Now, I had never read this book, so I was as enthralled as she was right from the start.  I mean, this is solid story-telling.  Clocking in at only 225 words, the book manages to introduce its main character, help you identify with him, take him through an enormous crisis, and resolve it beautifully into a happy ending.  I don’t want to spoil the ending, but let’s just say our hero has quite the journey in the space of one week.

I think my daughter liked the pictures and forget about it as soon as we were done, but the story stuck with me for a long time.  As I was lying awake thinking about it, several questions started to materialize in my mind, and I might go crazy unless I get them out.  So here goes — Part 1 of what will hopefully be an ongoing series about children’s books.  First, let’s look at the storyline.

The logic and science of The Very Hungry Caterpillar

Ok, so we have a caterpillar as our main character, and he is hungry.  Nothing wrong with that.  The book doesn’t tell us what he’s been eating up to that point, but we know that caterpillars are mostly phytophagous in food habit — meaning they’re herbivores and therefore eat plants.  So his diet over the first few days of the story raises some warning flags that, frankly, his friends should have picked up on.  Apples, pears, plums, strawberries — all good, and certainly a healthy diet, but those are fruit, not plants.  This dude’s got some serious issues.

But then things get nasty.  On Friday he eats five whole oranges?  Hold up there, fellow.  Have you seen how small you are?  At their biggest, caterpillars can get up to three inches long.  You stuff five oranges into such a small body and things are going to get weird pretty quickly. I guess it’s possible though, considering that caterpillars have been called “eating machines”, and eat pretty much all the time.  According to Wikipedia:

Most species shed their skin four or five times as their bodies grow, and they eventually pupate into an adult form.  Caterpillars grow very quickly – for example, a tobacco hornworm will increase its weight ten-thousand-fold in less than twenty days. An adaptation that enables them to eat so much is a mechanism in a specialized midgut that quickly transports ions to the lumen (midgut cavity), to keep the potassium level higher in the midgut cavity than in the blood.

So let’s say our friend survives the ordeal of the five oranges.  On Saturday, however, everything falls apart in the little guy’s world.  He eats chocolate cake, ice cream, a pickle, swiss cheese, salami, a lollipop, a cherry pie, a single sausage, a cupcake and a whole slice of watermelon.  Yes, some species of caterpillar have been known to be predators and even show cannibalistic tendencies, but this is just ridiculous.  There’s no way he could survive this binge.  Something must have set him off — but I guess that is the mystery of the story?

Whatever intervention happened between Saturday and Sunday, it must have worked.  Our friend the caterpillar goes on a serious diet and eats one single leaf — which is what he should have done in the first place — and this cures him of the gigantic stomachache he must have had from the previous week.  It is highly unlikely that (1) a single leaf could cure the caterpillar of his problems, and (2) that he would only eat one leaf that day.  I don’t think they lack the mental fortitude to stop eating.

But, let’s leave it at that.  Eventually the caterpillar turns into a butterfly, and the story has a happy ending.  Despite its science being very confusing, I must say that as a science fiction novel, this story really connected with me in the end when everything finally worked out.  So what can we learn from The Very Hungry Caterpillar?

The moral of the story is…

I think this story teaches us several life lessons:

• Don’t try to be someone you’re not.  The caterpillar clearly wasn’t happy with who he was — a herbivore.  He had to go out and experiment with all kinds of different foods, and in the end it nearly killed him.  He should have just been himself.
• You need friends who care about you.  Where was the caterpillar’s friends?  Was no one there to hold him accountable when he went off the deep end?  He needed a mentor, someone to share his troubles with.
• Overindulging is never an answer.  This story doesn’t have a lot of words in it, but it goes out of its way to explain that the caterpillar had a very bad stomachache after he snapped.  This is a universal truth — if you try to drown your sorrows by overindulging in things that help you escape reality, your tummy will most certainly ache the next morning, and your troubles will still be there.
• When things go wrong, return to what you know.  After hitting rock bottom on Saturday night, the caterpillar woke up on Sunday and realized that he needs to stop running away from himself.  He went back to his roots, ate a leaf, and became a butterfly.  That’s something all of us should remember when times are tough.  Take comfort in what you know, and have hope that maybe one day we’ll all transform into butterflies.

So even though I think we can learn a lot from this story, the science still bothers me.  I’d appreciate it if any of you can shed some light on what affliction might have befallen our caterpillar.

This post is part of the Fatherhood Friday series on Dad-Blogs.  Head over there to read some of the other Fatherhood Friday posts!

I remember the first time I left South Africa.  I was in my early twenties, and I got on a plane to Australia to study there for two years.  I had no idea what I was doing or how it would feel to be in another country.  I also had no idea what jet lag was all about.  The first night I went to bed at 4pm.  Big mistake.  I woke up at 2am, wide awake and hungrier than I’ve ever been in my entire life.  I got up to go hunting for food, and the KFC burger I found most likely saved my life that night.

I think of that experience often when I see Aralyn experiencing new things, because the look in her eyes reminds me of how I felt that night.  The realization that the world is so much bigger than you ever imagined can be as frightening as it is exhilarating.  And for Aralyn, every day is like a flight to a new country.  From the smallest discovery that she is able to move her toes, to the overwhelming experience of being in an airport with all its noises and people, “overstimulation” in babies is no made-up thing you say when the crying doesn’t stop.  It is very, very real.

A few nights ago Jess and I flew down to San Diego to spend Christmas with family.  It was the first time I flew with Aralyn, and I was a total ball of stress for days ahead of the flight.  And for good reason.  Let’s just say that things did not go well, and that I am strongly considering staying in San Diego until she is around 8 years old and able to fly without incident.  She cried inconsolably throughout the flight, and even though there were probably a few sympathetic parents somewhere, I couldn’t find any as I scanned the plane with a facial expression that hopefully conveyed how extremely sorry I was for the inconvenience we were causing them.

But it also got me thinking about the experience of becoming fully human.  I understand why Aralyn was crying.  She was in a completely foreign environment, with loud noises and bright lights, full of people she has never seen before.  Just like I felt when I woke up at 2am that first night in Australia.

But despite these traumatic experiences we eventually get older and learn how to deal with newness and the things that expand our world views.  I do think that anything we do that increases the size of our worlds has some essence of the effect I see it has on Aralyn.  She can’t talk yet, but her eyes scream her emotions: “I don’t know what this is, and it scares me to death, but please give me more of it.”

And so it is that, even at the tender age of 3 months, my daughter is already teaching me about life.  She is teaching me that we should all keep doing things that scare us.  Because those frightening experiences are what allow us to experience life fully and become, truly and happily, human.

I loved Voortrekkers, because it was all about being in the outdoors, learning how to tie knots, how to build a fire and pitch tents, survival skills, that kind of stuff.  Also, there were girls.  But there was one thing that made Voortrekkers very difficult.  Our weekly group meeting was on Fridays from 5:30-7pm.  And 7pm was MacGyver time.

Let met step back a second and tell you about TV in South Africa in the 1980s.  We didn’t get a lot of quality shows from America, or from anywhere for that matter, so we made do with reruns of The Jerry Springer Show, and old seasons of Perfect Strangers and Full House.  But Friday nights at 7pm was something completely different.  Friday night was TV gold in South Africa.  The night where the best action shows out of America were on: Airwolf, The A-Team, Riptide and yes, MacGyver.  MacGyver was a family institution at our house.  So every Friday evening at 7pm I would jump on my bike and ride the 6 and a half minutes home as fast as I possibly could so that I wouldn’t miss too much of an episode.

Anyway, I need to get to the point.  A recent parenting experience brought all my MacGyver memories flooding back.  Aralyn, our 3-month old, was in her 4th hour of inconsolable crying, and we’d tried absolutely everything to calm her down.  As a very last resort, I used a specific combination of math skillz (severe trigonometry to figure out a precise angle), a bottle, a car seat, and a boppy pillow to trick her into calming down and finally falling sleep.  I felt extremely proud of myself, and I immediately thought that my exposure to MacGyver at such an impressionable age was what saved me that night.  Which got me thinking about the many things MacGyver can teach us about parenting.  But before we go into that, a little reminder of the absolutely awesome MacGyver intro is in order:

1. All the tools you need are within reach

Nothing can make you feel as inadequate as a crying baby in your arms.  Sometimes there is just nothing wrong, except that your baby needs to cry for a while.  My advice?  Don’t give up trying different things to soothe her.  Like MavGyver, use the tools that are available to you — swings, pushing a stroller back and forth over a crack in the carpet, rocking the crib, swaddling her tightly, singing, talking, whispering, white noise, no noise, Miles Davis, Coldplay, the news on the radio, a pacifier, touching her nose, and the list goes on and on.  Keep going, keep trying.  The tools are there.  If you work at it long enough, something will work.

2. Never panic under pressure

I still remember our first night after bringing Aralyn home.  I was frantically holding her in one arm, while reading Happiest baby on the block and trying to learn swaddling techniques with my free hand.  I panicked.  And we panicked for many nights to come.  But slowly you start to realize that this episode will probably end like last night’s episode, so instead of panicking, stay calm, and use those tools.  Remember MacGyver’s composure.

3. You’re better than the bad guys

You really are more capable than you think.  I didn’t believe it about myself either, until that first time I managed to soothe Aralyn to sleep.  Then I started, slowly, to believe in myself.  I’m not there yet, but just like MacGyver and his faith in all that is good, I know now that I am able to beat the “bad guys” that make Aralyn cry, if I just keep at it.

4. Every day looks like it might end in disaster, but it all works out in the end

There were so many nights that we thought Aralyn would simply never sleep and we would be doomed to live in a state of wakefulness for all eternity. But somehow, I have no idea how, she fell asleep in the end, and we were able to get a few hours of rest.  Remember that, like every MacGyver episode, the hero always wins in the end.

5. Tomorrow will bring a new problem to solve

But it’s not over.  Tomorrow will bring new bad guys, new challenges, but also new tools.  So keep MacGyver’s optimism with you and know that the writers already wrote all the tools you will need into tomorrow’s episode.  You just have to stay calm, remember that you’re the hero, and beat those bad guys.

The first book we read on the topic was Vaccine Safety Manual for Concerned Families and Health Practitioners: Guide to Immunization Risks and Protection.   A better title might have been “Vaccinate your kids and they will die a horrible death, immediately.”  It really is a frightening read in every sense of the word.  We started reading the book a day before our daughter was scheduled for her first vaccination appointment, and it freaked us out so much that we immediately pushed out the appointment by 2 weeks, and wondered how we would ever be able to sleep without nightmares.

The next morning we took a deep breath, and started reading the other side of the story.  We went through a bunch of sources, but the most balanced book we found on the topic, and the one we ended up using in our decision, is Dr. Sears’ The Vaccine Book: Making the Right Decision for Your Child.  The book provides a balanced view of the pros and cons of each vaccination, and instead of prescribing what to do, it gives reasons for why you might want to give, or not give, each vaccination.

We eventually decided to go with Dr. Sears’ schedule that spaces out the vaccinations so that you don’t pump so much aluminum into their little bodies all at once.  So yesterday we dressed our daughter in the cutest outfit we could find, strapped her into the car seat, and went to the hospital.  Yesterday was also Black Friday in the US, and that’s very much what it felt like to us…  However, in the end, our daughter was much stronger than her parents.  I almost resorted to violence when the nurse stuck the needle in her leg, but other than that it was a fairly uneventful hospital visit.

The point I’m trying to make though, is that it really doesn’t matter what we decided to do. Before I had kids, I used to watch parents do certain things and think to myself, “I will never do that with my kids.”  Now I think differently.  Now I understand three undeniable facts about parenthood:

1. Everyone loves their kids
2. In most cases, there is no clear right way and wrong way to do things
3. We all get as informed as we can, and then we make the decision that feels most right

So whether you decide to vaccinate your kids or not, what is important is that you make an informed decision.  Beyond that, no one is allowed to judge you.

Aralyn is healthy, beautiful, sweet, and we love her to death.  She also has colic.  Which means that our lives have become very much like a Vegas casino in many ways.  We never sleep, it is always daytime, and our victories with her are few and far between.  I won’t lie and say that it’s been easy.  I can’t pretend that we are happy campers when it’s 2am and she is in her fourth hour of inconsolable crying.  But I am also amazed at how ridiculously much we love her.

You see, there is nothing wrong with her.  She is strong, she eats well, she grows and poops just like she is supposed to.  It’s just that her personality is, well, I guess you could say “spirited.”  No one knows what causes colic, but there is universal agreement on two things: (1) it peaks around 6 weeks, and (2) it goes away completely by about 3 months.

So this means that we are about to enter the 6-week peak.  It is amazing how our tolerance level for crying has gone up exponentially, and surviving on less than 3 hours sleep per night has just become part of everyday life, even if I still work full days every day up in San Francisco.

As you can probably tell by now, this post is not well-written, filled with funny stories, or edited in any way.  They are just the thoughts of an exhausted brain trying desperately to hang on until this phase passes.  I am frustrated with my inability to “fix” this.  But in the end, all I can do is hold her close to my chest, tell her I love her, and know that even though she doesn’t know what’s going on, she knows that she is safe, and she knows that she is loved.

Below is a photo montage of her first 5 weeks that I just put together this afternoon.  The song in the background is called “A Sign of Things to Come,” by the brilliant Temple Scene.  I chose it first and foremost for the lyrics, which are very fitting, but also because Jess and I listened to this album all the time while she was pregnant, so it will always remind me of that time.  Like the song says:

You can’t hold the night out
But take your stand against the storm
And you will find your way out of here
And when it feels like the rain is seeping in
And when it feels like the walls are no match for the wind
You don’t have to run when you know where you have to go

Aralyn’s First 5 weeks from Rian Van Der Merwe on Vimeo.

Speaking of hospitals, let me begin by saying this.  Although we received excellent care at the Kaiser Permanente Santa Clara hospital, I did question their judgment when they told us we can go home with the baby.  You mean to tell me we’re allowed to take a whole human being home with us, without anyone supervising us?  Highly irresponsible of them, if you ask me.  But I digress.

Speaking of digressing (and I’m allowed to do that since I didn’t sleep last night), here’s another observation.  When you first tell people that you are about to have a baby, their initial reaction is always a wonderfully self-affirming excitement, followed by the universally agreed-upon “when are you due?” question.  (Or, as one friend put it, “When did it happen?” None of your business when it happened, buddy!).

What happens next is also quite predictable.  Those who don’t have kids move on to other subjects and the matter is quickly forgotten.  But those who have kids take a different route.  There are a few seconds of silence, a widening of the pupils, a knowing and mysterious smile, followed by the words, “Your lives are going to change.” These words are usually spoken in a chilling monotone that somehow seems to suck the air out of the room.  I’ve always wondered about that.  There is so much emotion and experience bundled up in the simple words “Your lives are going to change,” that I was too afraid to ask them to elaborate.

Well, now I know what it means.  It means that elation, helplessness, joy, tiredness, ridiculous love, and feelings of inadequacy actually become one giant ball of emotion when you have a child. All these things become so intertwined that you can’t tell them apart, just as you have trouble telling night from day.  And I think this is a good thing.  I think it is good that for the first few weeks/months of a child’s life, you are physically incapable of focusing on anything else in your life.  Because caring for a child is that important, and you should not be allowed to make it just another part of your life.

And so Aralyn, Jess and I survived the first two weeks of her life.  Here’s a brief rundown of what we survived.  These might seem like small accomplishments, but they sure feel big to us:

• We survived the first night of trying everything in our power to soothe her while I speed-read The Happiest Baby on the Block in a desperate attempt to learn the inner workings of swaddling.
• We survived our first two visits to the Kaiser “Newborn Club” where the nurses taught me made-up words such as “hooter hider” and “nipple confusion.”
• We survived our first freak-out session over her erratic breathing and the (what appeared to be a) 10-year old doctor who couldn’t get an accurate oxygen reading, gave up, left the room, and called a nurse to help us instead.
• We survived our first appointment with the pediatrician who I’m pretty sure was in the cast of Fawlty Towers at some point in his life.  At least he could get an accurate oxygen count, though.
• And most of all, we survived the lack of sleep.  Nothing can prepare you for the lack of sleep.

I also feel obligated to answer a question my friend G-J asked me on Twitter today:

@RianVDM Are the nappies [diapers] as terrifying as you anticipated? Is the Diaper Genie II holding up well?

The answer to both of those questions is a resounding YES!  Diapers continue to be extremely terrifying to me, especially the variety of colors and smells that currently make up the poopiness inside.  Right now we’re at the “Dijon Mustard” stage, and sometimes at 3am it’s so eerily similar that I almost want to go toast some bread and… well, you know what I mean.

But the Diaper Genie II is a magnificent piece of equipment.  It’s one of those rare products that actually delivers on its promise of keeping dirty diapers out of sight and smell.  Although we did learn an important lesson last night.  When it’s full, it’s full.  The bags tear easily so don’t keep pushing things down in there, otherwise you will be forced to put on full scuba gear and dish washing gloves to clean up the resulting mess.

So here we are, two weeks in.  And even though it might sound like I’m complaining, I assure you that I am not.  The hardest part of parenting so far, for me, is the occasional feeling of helplessness.  The fact that she is crying, there’s something wrong, and there is simply nothing I can do about it.

But most of the time I just dream about her.  I wonder what kind of person she will be, what her passions are going to be, what she will teach me over the years, and how on earth I am ever going to learn to say “no” to her.  Because when she falls asleep on my chest, I realize that those who told us “Your lives are going to change” had it right, but they should have followed it up with even truer words.

“And you won’t want it any other way.”

Aralyn is, quite simply, a rock star.  She is alert and awake, eyes darting everywhere, and I kid you not, she seems to recognize us already.  Not so much our voices, but she is so responsive to our touch.  It is magical and terrifying and exhilirating.

I am still trying to wrap my mind around this miracle, but I will say that time came to a standstill for about 45 minutes this afternoon.  Aralyn’s temperature was a litle low, so the nurse told me to warm her with my body heat (skin to skin contact).  I think that was the moment I utterly and completely fell in love.

Lots more to come, but for now I will leave you with her beautiful profile:

In some cases I have been successful in my quest: BabyCenter has been an invaluable resource, despite their continued bizarre practice of measuring our baby’s size and weight in fruits and vegetables no one has ever heard of, much less eaten.  The Know-How Book for Dads has also been extremely useful.  In other cases, my earnest search for knowledge has come up short, like with The Expectant Father, which is apparently a “classic” book about preparing to have a baby, but the only thing classic about this book is its Hitchcockian nature of scaring the crap out of you.  No, not recommended.

Anyway, in desperation I recently turned to an unlikely source for advice: photos from my past.  There is one family photo in particular that I have been staring at for a while now.  Let me show you the photo and then we’ll discuss it on the other side.  Sound ok?  Good.  Here it is:

No, wait, that’s not it.  Sorry, my bad.  Let’s move on people, nothing to see here.  I’m sure I had a very legitimate reason for that outbreak.  Ah — here it is:

That’s better. Once I got past the fact that the photo is out of focus, and I looked closely, I started to see some detail that is teaching me a lot about fatherhood. So here are four observations from this unassuming, random family photo, and what it is teaching me about being a good father:

• I am not happy. I am clearly not in a good mood on this photo.  Although the reason escapes me now (it was a while ago), it’s teaching me lesson #1: sometimes kids are unhappy, and it’s not their parents’ fault. I know this in theory, but I think it will probably take me a while to not feel guilty every time our baby cries.  I read all about how cries are different — they’re hungry, they’re tired, Miley Cirus is on TV and they’re too young to know how to change the channel, etc.  All different reasons.  I just need to make peace with the fact that our baby won’t always be a laughing bundle of joy.
• My mom knows how to hold me. The technique she’s using (I believe after years of study scientists now refer to it as “Cradle Hold”) is something I have never been able to master in my endless attempts at it, holding real as well as imaginary babies.  But this brings me to lesson #2: moms know better at first, and that’s ok.  As much as I try to prepare myself, I am going to mess up that first diaper change (probably with disastrous consequences for my clothes and the walls).  But that’s ok, because Jess will be instinctively brilliant at all the newborn stuff, which means I can relax and just catch up on my own time.  That is good to know.
• I’m reaching out. One of the most amazing things about babies that I haven’t been able to wrap my head around, is how they are able to not only recognize their parents, but need them for security and safety, pretty much from the moment they arrive.  So lesson #3 is this: be there when she needs me. I may fail at diaper-changing and soothing her to sleep, but if she reaches out for me, I better make sure that I’m there.  All my life.
• My dad cares more about me than having the photo come out right. How my dad takes photos is the stuff of family legend, and there is definitely not enough room in this blog post to tell the tale in full.  Let me just say two things: for my dad, there always has to be people in pictures he takes (this should tell you a lot about him…), and it takes him at least 5 minutes before he feels happy with the composition, after which it takes another 2-3 minutes to press the actual button.  (As with most habits of our parents, this used to be annoying, but is now one of my fondest memories of him.)  Anyway, suffice to say that my dad takes photos very seriously.  And that’s what’s so striking to me about this particular photo.  He doesn’t seem to care about how it comes out.  He sees me crying, he’s concerned, and he wants to help.  I think you know where I’m going with this, so I’ll just say that lesson #4 is this: nothing is more important than the safety of my daughter.

And with these four lessons at my side, I think I am ready. We have prepared for this as much as we can over the past 9 months, so now it’s time for our baby to come, because I’m dying to meet her.

Let me also say this. It’s amazing what you can learn from old pictures and memories if you only take the time to stop and think about them for a little while.  I highly recommend you try this.  Go get an old family album, and look at the photos.  I think you’ll be surprised at what you find.

First, a blog post from Dad-Blogs.com (Stocking up on disposable diapers before your baby is born) informed me that most new babies use 8-10 diapers a day!  That’s about 250 diapers per month!  And I also hear that babies don’t change themselves.  So this could be a problem.

Then, my parents bought us a wonderful gift from our registry: the Diaper Genie II Elite System.  It’s a fantastic piece of equipment that places used diapers in an air locked container, to immediately be incinerated and blasted into outer space.  At least, that’s what I hope it does.

You have to wonder about that brand name too.  It raises so many questions.  For example, what was the problem with the USS Diaper Genie I, and how many sad souls suffered the consequences of whatever its defect was (I can only assume it has something to do with leakage) before it was fixed?  And what makes this the Elite version?  Now that I think about it, the fact that this “system” exists actually brings me no comfort at all — in fact, it just helps to shine a bright light on what must surely be a very toxic situation.

And last but not least, I recently acquired a book called The Know-How Book for Dads: Practical Pieces of Wisdom to Keep You Sane.  This is, by far, the best dad-book I have in my collection, with advice on everything from how to hold a baby and how to treat minor injuries, to juggling and how to make balloon animals.  It is pure gold.  And I have to give a shout-out to cousin Matt who told me about the book (since he is now the proud father of twins, I consider him an expert so I do everything he tells me to do).

Anyway, the section on Changing a diaper starts as follows:

In the first weeks of your baby’s life, you will change hundreds of diapers.  Soon you’ll be able to swap a dry one for a wet one with your eyes closed.  But before you master the art of the diaper change, you’re first going to have to learn to steady a squirming baby and avoid getting peed on while making sure the diaper fits comfortably but snugly.

And that’s just the intro to the very detailed 9-step process that follows, which just makes my head spin.  I now understand that knowing look I see in other dads’ eyes when I tell them that this is our first child.  Because they know about diapers.  I can only hope that the 2 things people keep telling me are true:

1. You learn very quickly
2. It’s different when it’s your own baby’s diaper that you’re changing

Anyway, for those of you keeping score, Jess is doing great.  We have 10 weeks to go to her due date, and apart from the expected discomfort of being in the third trimester, she’s been having a fantastic pregnancy.  We’ll also be attending a birthing class in a couple of weeks, and I am hoping that practicing diaper-changing on baby dolls will at least give me the confidence to try it out on the real thing when the time comes (not that I have much of a choice).

But I am definitely getting dish washing gloves, plus swimming goggles and a snorkel, to soften the blow.

Today you and I met for the first time.  I have to admit that I enter this relationship not liking you very much, though.  First of all, you are the only thing that stands between me and meeting my baby girl, so for that reason alone I need you to be over as soon as possible.  When we first found out Jess was pregnant, I was really happy that we had 9 months to prepare for the whole thing, because it is quite the project to get everything set up.  But now that we’re 6 months in, I don’t quite understand what’s taking so long.  I think we’re pretty much ready, so if you could just go ahead and speed things along, that would be great.

But there’s another, bigger reason why I don’t like you.  It seems that your only goal is to make my wife as uncomfortable as possible, and I’m not cool with that.  She read me this from one of her variety of pregnancy books this morning (The pregnancy countdown book):

Besides the continued growth and development of your baby, the third trimester ultimately serves one purpose: To make you so uncomfortabkle, so over it, so tired, so achy, so itchy, and so freakishly huge, that you will do anything to get the baby out of you.  This is Mother Nature’s way of inspiring you at the end of your pregnancy, even though we spent the previous eight months thinking, “Okay, how is this going to happen again?”

I don’t know about that inspiration bit, but I guess that’s the “glass half full” approach.  So I just have one request for you: please be nice to my wife.  The other trimesters have been great and you should see them as role models.  I think it’s time for you to turn the page and become just like them.  So just make her happy, and be over soon, ok?

Oh, and just one more thing.  If you see the Teenage Years around, please tell them we need to talk.  You see, when I grew up, I listened to a lot of Chris de Burgh’s music (don’t judge me, I’m sure you listen to country music or something).  Anyway, he has a song that he wrote for his daughter called For Rosanna.  I played it for Jess the other night, because she hadn’t heard it before, and she had a little trouble when we got to this part:

And when you are older you will go away,
You’ll see injustice and you’ll see pain,
But never forget that I’m always there,
Like a shadow by your side,
With the love that I have.

It appears that the mere thought of our unborn daughter ever leaving home is proving too much for her to handle (and probably for me too).  So if you could just tell the Teenage Years that we’re going to have to talk about this whole “going away to college” thing, that would be great.

Thank you,
A concerned dad-to-be